


Tenderness is the Repose of Passion

by echoes_of_another_life



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:52:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_another_life/pseuds/echoes_of_another_life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wanted to know why Sam just couldn’t tell him the truth. It’s not like he cared which way Sam wanted to swing his dick, hell he’d swung his here, there and everywhere. It wasn’t anyone’s business but his own where his dick chose to spend the night and it’s not like he hid it from Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tenderness is the Repose of Passion

Tenderness is the Repose of Passion

“Sam?”

“Hey, dude?” Dean threw his keys in the unused ashtray by the bed and waited. 

“Aw, come on man, you aren’t still bitching about earlier are you? ‘Cause I’ve got alcohol... Sammy?” Dean called. 

“Sam, this shit isn’t funny, dude... Sam?” 

Dean dropped the six-pack on the nearest surface and ate up the space between his bed and the bathroom in three angry strides, shoved open the door with his shoulder and pushed his way inside. 

“Look, man. I said I was sorry...” Dean began... “Sam? Fuck, dude!” 

Dean hated it when Sam took off without telling him where he was going, hated not knowing where Sam was, what he was doing, how he was doing. Storming out in the middle of an argument, Dean could handle because Sam never went far, both knew where to find the other when the temper-fuse sputtered and died. Sam would be in the nearest coffee shop, or library and Dean would be propping up the local bar, knocking back a few and waiting for Sam to find him. But this..? Dean hated this. And it was happening more and more, in almost every town; every motel they checked into, Sam would leave the bathroom smelling like some girl had spent three hours or so preening herself for a date with the town’s local stud. 

Dean sucked in a breath, coughed as the numerous smells invaded his lungs, shampoo, shower-gel and, dude, he so needed to have a word with his brother about his choice of cologne because, yeah, girl, three hours or so and much preening. It would be funny if it wasn’t so fuckin’... Dean slammed his fist into the wall alongside the small mirror, gritted his teeth against the need to smash it just to erase the words Sam had left on its surface, with... Dean scrubbed his hand down across well-worn denim, “Dude, fuckin’ toothpaste?” 

He stormed out of the bathroom, threw himself face down on his unmade bed, turned over, reached and pulled a bottle from the six-pack and popped the cap. 

“Don’t wait up,” he mumbled. He took a long swallow, swung his legs over the side of the bed as he sat back up and kicked one of Sam’s mud-splattered boots across the room. 

“Yeah, got your nice clean boots on now haven’t you?” he mumbled into the open-neck of the bottle as he tipped it back and swallowed. “Nice clean shirt too, I’ll bet...” he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on Sam’s neatly made bed, slammed the empty bottle down on the bedside table and reached for another. “Don’t wait up, can you believe that?” Dean mumbled to the bottle as he licked at the froth foaming against the rim of the open bottle-neck and then scowled when it became apparent that the bottle couldn’t give a damn. 

“Well I aren’t coming after you.” He took a long swallow of beer, and another, flicked on the TV, surfed through the channels, turned it off and then hurled the remote control at the door, grabbed his jacket and his keys and stormed out. 

“I’ll give you don’t wait up, you smart-mouthed little bitch,” Dean hissed as he jammed the keys into the Impala’s ignition and screeched out of the motel’s parking lot. 

It hadn’t bothered him at first, the disappearances, well once he’d gotten over the initial panic of Sam being alone and possibly demon fodder, or road kill or possibly locked up in a cage in some sick puppy’s barn in the backwoods of fuck-knows-where. Or you know, Sam just being out there and alone. He hadn’t let on when Sam had finally found his way back, smelling of booze and bar smoke, hair all ruffled, mouth swollen and bruised and so fuckin’ pretty it was downright unfair that they were related. Hadn’t told Sam that he’d spent half the night combing the woods and local demon haunts for his sorry ass. He’d just grunted an incoherent response to Sam’s mumbled apology, turned over and tried to sleep without thinking too much about how Sam had come about the teeth-shaped bruises which marred the skin above his collarbone. 

And it wasn’t like it was a regular thing, just now and again. Dean understood that, and if his baby brother wanted to slip out and into some pretty little local then he wasn’t going to argue the point. A year was a long time to go with only your hand for company and if Sam didn’t want Dean to know that he was being unfaithful to Jessica then shit, Dean wasn’t going to spoil the kid’s fun. 

Unfaithful, fuck? How could you be unfaithful to a memory but that was Sam, always the girl. 

Only the more they fought the more Sam just upped and disappeared. And they were fighting, a lot, over the stupidest things. 

Why did he always have to take a piss while Sam was in the shower? 

Dude, when you gotta go, you gotta go, you know? 

Why did he have to walk around half naked? 

Shit dude. Since when was trying to catch a few minutes sleep without a shirt, half naked? 

Did he have to walk like that? And so close? Talk like that? And while wearing that grin? 

Dean, quit touching me. 

Dean move. Dean shut up. Dean quit it. Dean don’t do this, Dean don’t do that, Dean... Dean... Dean... 

Dean would you stop with the tongue thing already? 

Fuck. Tongue thing? He had a tongue thing? It was weird, it was beyond weird, and that was saying something because Dean knew weird, knew it, lived and breathed it but this? This was some crazy shit. And if that didn’t piss him off enough, Dean was sure that some of the headaches Sam claimed to suffer were just some new kind of Dean-avoidance tactic. 

They used to go out once in a while, shoot the breeze, enjoy a few drinks, and a game of pool, trade a few smiles, chat up the local talent, and maybe have a little fun now and again. 

Until the arguments started and Sam took to storming out and banging doors only to roll back in hours later looking like he’d been dragged through every bush backward and somehow managed to come out the other end smelling of fuckin’ roses. 

And unable to meet Dean’s enquiring gaze. 

That’s what had done it, Sam’s guilty expression, the fact that he refused to look Dean in the face, always avoided him the next day, as if somehow whatever had happened was all Dean’s fault. Dean figured if he was going to be punished then he was damn well going to find out exactly what it was he was being punished for. So the next time Sam took off, hunt over, words of complaint already spent and leaving the bathroom smelling like a cross between prom night and a brothel, Dean wasn’t far behind. Just far enough that his brother wouldn’t notice the hunter had become the hunted. 

It was wrong, it felt wrong but not enough to prevent Dean from following Sam because whatever it was Sam was doing, wherever it was he was going, it was somewhere, something Sam wanted or needed to hide from Dean and that wasn’t good. That was dangerous and stupid, and more of a risk than Dean was willing to allow Sam. If it was just a hook-up, then fair enough, Dean would walk away, hell he would probably slap Sam on the back, punch him in the arm and give him his blessing, anything to erase the look of guilt from Sam’s face or prevent the avoidance. If it was more, if it was something which might result in Sam getting hurt... then it was something Dean needed to know because that was his job, preventing Sam from getting hurt. 

Only Dean wasn’t so sure his job description included wrestling Sam away from the town stud, unless they were fighting, and Sam was losing, which was unlikely. Or Sam was outnumbered, which he wasn’t and Dean was pretty sure that Sam could handle another guy, one–on-one. It was just, fuck, he hadn’t realised just how well Sam could handle another guy, especially with his jeans unbuttoned, and sliding down his thighs. And from where Dean was standing Sam seemed to be doing just fine. Okay, so it was dark and he had deliberately tried to keep a certain amount of distance but shit, he was damn sure that the broad shoulders, short-cropped hair, and wide expanse of muscular, partially naked ass didn’t belong to the kind of hook-up he was expecting. 

He was also sure that Sam wouldn’t be the only one avoiding eye contact for the next day or two, now that he knew why Sam never told him where he was going or why? 

Dean wanted to know why Sam just couldn’t tell him the truth. It’s not like he cared which way Sam wanted to swing his dick, hell he’d swung his here, there and everywhere. It wasn’t anyone’s business but his own where his dick chose to spend the night and it’s not like he hid it from Sam. 

Dean figured he should just ask Sam, be open about it and then quickly changed his mind because that would mean admitting he’d followed him, which would be another strike against the ever-growing list of things which Dean seemed to be doing wrong of late. And he’d already added to that once today by showering and not drying himself off properly before stepping out of the bathroom. Or was it not dressing himself fully before stepping out of the bathroom? It was getting kind of hard to decipher whatever the hell Sam was saying when he was already half-way out the door and heading in the nearest direction that led away from Dean. 

So he followed him instead. Several hunts and three towns later Sam took off while Dean was out, restocking the dwindling supplies of rock salt and alcohol. It didn’t take long to track Sam down; there weren’t that many bars in towns where the real ugly demons hung out and this one had been a real ugly-looking motherfucker of a demon. Still Dean had taken great pleasure in taunting it with just how pretty he was before he killed it, much to Sam’s disgust and constant reminders that it was a hunt and not a beauty contest. 

It wasn’t an ass fucking contest either but that didn’t seem to bother Sam all that much, well not as far as Dean could tell. 

Sam had jumped in the shower the minute they had returned to their motel, not even taking the time to wait until Dean was out of sight before leaving. He just walked out of the bathroom, grabbed his jacket and left, not once glancing in Dean’s direction. Dean didn’t get it, not the ass fucking because Dean could totally understand that. What he didn’t get was Sam. The way Sam was acting, it was just... weird. Because this was the third time that Dean had followed Sam and each time it was the same thing. No sooner had Dean found where Sam was, found somewhere nearby and sheltered to watch over his brother then Sam would exit the bar with some random guy who’d follow Sam to somewhere close by and quiet, where Sam would unbuckle his pants and just, fuck. 

It wasn’t right, it wasn’t Sam, and the more he watched the more angry and pissed off Dean became. Standing there watching some fuckin’ guy, all muscle, short-cropped hair and denim rut his fuckin’ naked ass with his brother, grunt his way to his own satisfaction before dragging his pants back up over his softening cock and walking away, leaving Sam alone and fuckin’... yeah fuck that. 

Sam deserved better than that, Sam deserved... something more. 

Dean just wasn’t sure what or how to even bring up the subject with Sam because hanging around bars watching his brother get his ass fucked wasn’t something he confessed to everyday. 

If he was really honest, it wasn’t something he wanted to confess to, ever. 

Dean figured he’d just get drunk, find a bar where the special was three parts tequila and one part of whatever was soaked in to the bar towel. Where they boast wood panelling, and claim the dirt as structural, the kind of place where a guy waits until he’s outside to take a piss. 

The kind of place where he was least likely to run into Sam. 

The first thing Dean noticed when he walked through the door was the half-naked waitresses carrying trays laden with drinks as they brushed up against customers he could only describe as barely legal to terminal. But what the hell, if a girl needed to earn a decent tip then it weren’t no business of his, except maybe the small, brunette with the cleavage because Dean certainly wouldn’t object to making that one his business for an hour, or several. 

It was noisy, smoked-filled and pretty crowded, at least from what he could see of it once he’d squinted his way through the smoky haze. And it seemed windowless but hey, when the scenery is as bad as all that, who’d really want to look at it? Besides, judging by the noise and constant shattering of glass it seemed that what it lacked in windows it more than made up for in happy hours. 

Dean nodded to the bartender as he handed him several crumpled dollar bills, raised his glass and knocked back the liquor in one swallow, closing his eyes and relishing the burn as it hit the back of his throat. He licked his lips, smiled at a passing waitress as he ordered another, and glanced across the bar in search of a pool table and instead found Sam, walking toward the rear door with the night’s choice of random guy close on his heels. 

And that wasn’t all he noticed. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe he’d been blind or maybe he was just stupid because suddenly everything made sense, more than he actually cared to admit. The arguments, the bickering, the avoidance, just one look at the guy whose hand was already sliding beneath Sam’s jacket, skimming over the tight stretch of denim which clung to Sam’s ass and Dean knew. 

He was shorter than Sam by a few inches but then that was no hardship considering his brother’s height, and compared to Sam he looked small but as Dean let his gaze skim his broad frame it became obvious there was nothing small about him. He was tall, broad shouldered but well in proportion to his muscular thighs if the cut of his jeans was anything to go by. His hair was short, lighter than Sam’s, sharper compared to the softness of Sam’s long, unruly bangs. And there was a cockiness about him, something in the way he walked, as if he owned the place and could take anyone in it who was either drunk or stupid enough to disagree, and... 

“Son of a Bitch,” Dean hissed. 

Dean was stopping this, he was stopping it now because fuckin’ some random guy, several random guys, who all just happened to resemble his brother was totally fucked up, even for them. He slammed his glass down against the bar and glared at the bartender who reached to mop at the spilt tequila as Dean shouldered his way toward the exit. 

It didn’t take long to find Sam; Dean just followed the sound of his voice as he made his way around the back of the bar and suddenly, stopped. 

Dean had heard Sam’s pleading voice, usually when he wanted Dean to do something Dean didn’t want to do, go somewhere he didn’t want to go, like a hunt Dean wasn’t keen on. Or heading out of town before Dean had had a chance to fuck the pretty little waitress who served crap coffee but more than made up for it when she leaned over their table to refill his cup, letting her dress ride up over her thighs to reward Dean with a glimpse of her ass. 

But fuck, he’d never heard Sam beg, not like he was now, his voice barely a whisper, filled with urgency and coated with need. 

Please... 

It made him want to strangle the fucker, not Sam because... 

No, Dean wanted to strangle the guy, the same guy Sam had left the bar with, the one Dean watched now as he stepped closer to Sam, laughing his scorn against the back of Sam’s neck as he attempted to shrug his jeans from his hips with one hand, the other keeping Sam pinned tight against the wall. Dean wanted to strangle him with his bare hands and watch his face, see the fear in his eyes as Dean made him pay for putting his filthy hands on his brother. For shoving him up against a wall, laughing, mocking Sam, touching him the way he did, rough and uncaring, for taking and not giving anything in return and just... 

Dean reached out without even realising, grabbed the collar of the guy’s jacket and yanked him backwards, spun him around and pulled him up to his full height and felt a burst of satisfaction as the guy’s mouth opened and immediately closed, fear evident on his face as Dean glared at him. Dean shoved him, hard, not needing to say a word as the guy fumbled to fasten his jeans, glanced up at Sam and then back at Dean, his feet dragging as he backed away a few steps and then turned and fled. 

Jesus, Sam was gonna kill him, Sam was... 

Dean opened his mouth to say something, apologise but the sight of Sam, palms braced against the wall, head bowed, legs spread and, fuck, he was turning around, he was... 

Dean reached out, shoved hard at Sam’s shoulder to keep him from turning, from seeing... he stepped closer, just a fraction as he released his grip on Sam’s shoulder and inhaled a deep breath in, all anger spent as Sam relaxed under his touch, spread his legs wider and rested his forehead against concrete. 

“Please, I want... please...” 

“Sshhhh,” Dean whispered. “It’s okay, just relax...” 

Dean swallowed, he could do this, give Sam what he wanted, just this once, in this place, now and then, then he’d... 

“Please,” Sam begged. 

Dean uncurled his fingers, relaxed the fist he’d been making against Sam’s shoulder, smoothed out the wrinkles he’d made in Sam’s jacket and stepped closer, eased his fingers in to the softness of Sam’s hair, and breathed. 

“SSshhhh, baby,” Dean whispered, his words muffled against Sam’s shoulder as he eased into Sam’s space, stroked his fingers through the soft strands of Sam’s hair, tilted his head and mouthed at the heated skin of his shoulder. 

Dean felt his cock harden as the blood rushed to his groin, his breathing becoming harsh, ragged, making his mouth dry. His fingers shook as he shoved at Sam’s jacket and exposed more and more of Sam’s skin; his other hand tightened in Sam’s hair, not rough, just enough to keep Sam from turning, from seeing. He swallowed as he skimmed his hand along the taut muscles of Sam's back, across Sam's hip and below the waistband of Sam's jeans and eased his palm flat against Sam’s naked ass, flexed his fingers. 

Christ, he wanted to shove him against the wall, strip him bare, taste and explore every inch of exposed flesh until there was nothing between them, no clothes, no secrets, no barriers just heat and flesh and Sam. He wanted to hear the noises Sam made, just before he came, wanted to taste his name on Sam’s lips, watch how much he wanted this, how much he needed this. He wanted to watch Sam come apart beneath him, feel him beneath him, taste his sweat, feel him shudder, wanted to feel the weight of Sam’s thighs around his waist, feel his feet dig into the small of his back as he lifted, flexed his muscles, tight around his cock. He wanted to feel Sam’s hands, reaching for him, holding him, pulling him down, forcing him deeper, harder, faster... 

He wanted this... 

He wanted Sam. 

“Sam,” Dean breathed. 

Dean braced his arm against Sam’s shoulder blades, leaned into him to keep him still as he fumbled with the buttons on his jeans, eased them down over his hips and groaned as the cold air rushed to meet the heat building in his groin. He eased Sam’s jeans lower, stroked his hand between his thighs and bit back a curse as Sam groaned, pushed back against him until they were skin on skin. His cock flush with Sam’s naked ass, his breath hot against the exposed skin of Sam’s back as Sam circled his hips, bringing them closer together, heat and sweat and pre come causing his dick to slide easily between the cleft of Sam’s ass. 

“Jesus, fuck Sam,” Dean moaned. 

“Want,” Sam hissed. 

Dean wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, didn’t care because this, right here? Dean wanted it. He wanted more, he wanted now and tomorrow and the day after and the one after that. 

“Yeah, want,” Dean moaned. He slid one hand up Sam’s shirt, lifting the material, his fingers smoothing over muscle as he gripped the worn cotton, held it away from Sam’s skin as he mouthed his way along Sam’s back. He nipped at Sam’s shoulder blade with his teeth and felt Sam shudder beneath his touch, licked a path across his shoulder as Sam moaned and bucked back against him. 

Dean groaned, sucked a bruise into the tender skin of Sam’s neck as he felt Sam’s arm reach back, long fingers circled his cock, stroked up, brought him closer, eased him nearer... 

“Want, now,” Sam urged. 

Dean leaned into Sam’s touch, one hand braced flat against the wall alongside Sam’s, fingers slightly touching as he pushed forward, felt muscle give beneath each thrust. He swallowed, his forehead came to rest between Sam’s shoulder blades as each thrust brought them closer, and closer until Dean’s hips were flush against Sam’s ass. 

“Fuck...” Dean held still, unable to move as Sam circled his hips, clenched his muscles around Dean’s cock and groaned. All Dean could do was remember to breathe as Sam continued to push back against him, his hips moved in slow circles as Dean waited, breathed and waited... 

“More,” Sam begged. “Want more...” 

Dean shuddered as he pressed open-mouthed kisses against the sweat-soaked skin of Sam’s back, thrust forward, pulled back and felt Sam clench his muscles, holding on to the head of Dean’s cock as he withdrew almost fully. He watched the way Sam pushed back against his dick. 

“Yeah, Sam...” Dean breathed and continued to watch as Sam fucked himself back against Dean, saw his hips work faster, desperate for more as Sam braced his hands hard against concrete, his fingers tangled with Dean’s, snagged against the cold metal of Dean’s ring. 

“Please, just this once, please...” Sam whispered. 

Dean wanted to hold on, to make it last, to make it good but Sam was begging, and fuck, he was hot, clamped tight around his cock. Sam circled his hips, and it was all Dean could do to not move, to hold on, to wait. But the heat of Sam’s body, the feel of Sam’s hand against his skin, fingers digging into Dean’s hip, pushing back and his voice, desperate, urgent, wanting, wanting this and, it felt so good, it felt... 

Dean thrust forward, held tight to the fingers gripping his, Sam’s fingers, Sam’s skin, Sam’s need, Dean’s want, Dean’s Sam, just, fuck, he was gonna... 

“Sam,” Dean gasped. 

Dean circled Sam’s waist with his free hand, held him still, and fast against him as he thrust up, long hard strokes, his fingers wrapping around Sam’s cock. He heard Sam’s breathing become more erratic as Dean’s thrusts became shorter, faster as he stroked his thumb over the head of Sam’s cock, felt Sam buck up into his fist and then push back against Dean’s cock as warm come coated Dean’s fingers. 

“Sammy...” Dean hissed. He pulled back, thrust forward, his orgasm building, reaching... coming as he struggled to take it slow. He moaned, mouth open as he tasted the heat of Sam’s skin, thrust against him and savoured every spasm as he rode the aftershocks. 

Dean kept his head bowed, against Sam’s shoulder, his hand back to keeping Sam still, fingers fisted into the material of Sam’s jacket as he wiped himself with his shirt, fumbled with his jeans and stepped back. He watched Sam struggling to pull up his own pants; he could leave, now, just turn away and head around the corner and run, maybe Sam would never know, would think... 

“Dean?” 

Dean jerked forward as Sam grabbed him, shoved him hard, hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs as his back connected against the opposite wall of the alley. 

Dean didn’t move, kept his head down, and watched the movement of Sam’s feet as he waited for Sam’s fist to connect with his face. 

“Dean,” Sam whispered. “Please...” 

It was that voice again, the same pleading tone, the one he’d heard earlier, filled with want, quiet and desperate... Dean flinched, lifted his head when he felt Sam’s breath, hot against his face, felt Sam’s hand press him back against the wall, careful and hesitant. 

“Dean?” 

Dean looked up but Sam was already there, lips hot against his own, tongue working its way into his mouth, touching his own, tasting... 

“Dean?” Sam breathed. 

“Yeah?” Dean replied. 

“Next time I wanna see your face, I wanna see your face when you come,” Sam whispered against Dean’s mouth. 

Dean tasted the words, held on to their warmth, to Sam and groaned. 

“I can do that.” 

“Yeah?” Sam whispered. 

“Yeah, Sam.”


End file.
